


Domestic Ferality

by Corvid_ink



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alright here we go let's do this, Alternate Universe - Monsters and Hunters, Awkward Nudity, Blood and Violence, Eventual Romance, Feral Behavior, Gun Violence, Hanzo helps McCree come to terms with his past, I'll tag as needed, M/M, McCree helps Hanzo get over himself, Sombra is having a great time watching this go down, Weredragon Hanzo, werewolf mccree - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-11-29 17:58:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11446083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corvid_ink/pseuds/Corvid_ink
Summary: Hanzo, years after having left a clan of dragons that has long since been scattered to the wind, wanders the rural American South in hopes of finding peace and control over the most uncontrollable aspect of his life.Instead, he finds a werewolf.





	1. The dragon hungers

Your name is not important. 

You have one, to be sure. Some spark of sentience in the back of your mind assures you as much. But in the depths of the forest under the light of the full moon, with your ears trained on the tiniest rustle of leaves and the sharp scent of blood wafting ever closer, nothing could matter less. The mundane titles and distinctions gifted from one human to another are insignificant. Names can’t fill your aching stomach. Words can’t capture prey. 

You focus on your breathing, keeping your heart steady with measured inhales and exhales. You focus on your footsteps, taking care not to tread on a stray twig. You move your paws carefully over blades of grass, your gait fluid from years of practice despite a missing leg. You are a coiled spring, stored energy waiting to be unleashed. 

Your prey comes into view. 

A stag limps through underbrush nearby. Its leg is bloodied but not broken, just enough to mark its presence and weaken it. Enough to make easy prey for you. It’s large, looming over your head, with antlers that stretch past its width. It could easily skewer you if it could reach you, so you take care to flank its side. There’s no point in taking deadly risks. Your patience always rewards you before the night is done. 

You prepare to strike, taking deeper breaths as your pulse quickens. It would only take a moment to bring down the injured buck, only a moment more to tear out its throat. The creature is large enough to satisfy your hunger. You practically drool in anticipation as your haunches tense, ready to pounce. 

But the moment is halted. Both you and the deer freeze as the loud snap of a branch sounds from nearby.

You are not alone. 

***

The forest was quiet. Perhaps more so than usual, but this didn’t set off any alarms for Hanzo. He was used to how nature responded to his transformations. No frogs were singing, no small animals rustling the underbrush, and even the crickets had gone silent. But the stillness was expected–especially early in the night, when he was fresh from growing scales and strangled sounds and thrashing limbs. It was as if the forest itself froze, waiting with bated breath to see what he would do next. 

It was always the same. Every month he would transform, and every month he would hunt, desperate to stave off the gnawing hunger of his truest form. 

His long serpentine body slid through the grass as he prowled in search of sustenance. His claws dug into the dirt with every step, itching to tear flesh and spill blood. His jaws were clenched, suppressing guttural growls deep in his throat, desperate to clamp down on some unfortunate animal’s fragile neck and snap the bones underneath their skin. His muscles trembled, eager to run and chase and climb, but not being allowed to do anything except ever so slowly move forward. His entire body screamed for the hunt. 

But Hanzo was diligent and patient. He refused to give into the instincts screaming to be released. He couldn’t. He knew better, knew that if he gave in an inch he would be plunged into the unknown, dragged out of consciousness while his feral side roamed free. He had woken up too many times surrounded by bones and without memories of the previous night to let it happen again. He was better than that.

The ferality clawed at his mind, threatening to take control, but he pushed it back. It was like dealing with a caged animal. Keep it contained, keep it held back, just long enough to get it fed. 

A deer came into view. Hanzo tensed up, his pupils dilating at the sight of prey. In his human form this would be all too simple; An arrow between the eyes or two between the ribs would bring the beast down cleanly and easily. But he wasn’t human now and he didn’t have his arrows. He had claws that itched for tearing skin and jaws that ached for the taste of blood, and it took everything in him not to succumb to his instincts on the spot. 

He took off, launching himself at the deer. He hooked his claws into one of its legs, drawing a steady stream of blood as he tried to get a better hold. But the attack was sloppy, miscalculated; The deer pulled out of his grip and kicked him in the head, sending him sprawling backwards as it darted away. 

He huffed, breathing heavily and spitting out blood. It wasn’t his finest performance, but his prey was marked. The scent of blood would be easily followed. But he had to hurry. The injured animal would attract more predators soon, and more competition would just make the night last longer. 

After only a few minutes of following the scent, he had the deer in his sight once again. It was limping through some shrubbery, likely trying to find a place to hide from its pursuer. It didn’t succeed. 

Hanzo moved forward, eager to end the hunt, only to watch the deer freeze as his weight pressed down on a stray branch, letting out a loud snap as it broke under his claws. 

It was time to act. 

Adrenaline pumped through his veins as he surged forward, leaping onto its back. He dug his claws in either side of its spine, curling the length of his body around its middle as he maneuvered his head around to clamp his jaws around its neck. With a sudden jerk, he tore its throat out, clambering out of the way as it fell to the ground, dead. 

Immediately after he began to tear into its body, letting his guard down as he devoured chunks of deer. He didn’t notice the looming presence nearby until it growled at him. 

He jumped at the sound and spun around, curling protectively around his catch. Standing before him was a wolf. It was roughly the size of a small bear, was covered in thick dark fur and scars, and one of its legs was missing, ending in a scarred stump halfway down. 

And it was staring him down. 

Hanzo kept his breathing steady and stayed motionless under the gaze of the creature, not daring to so much as break eye contact. The wolf didn't make any moves towards him, though it was clearly hostile. It just stared at him. Silently. It soon became clear what was happening. 

This was a staring contest. Whoever wins attacks first. 

The only sounds he could hear were those of his own breathing and the pounding of his heart. The forest was as silent as the animal in front of him, as though it were waiting to see what would happen. As for the wolf, it was completely frozen. It didn't move, didn't blink, didn't even seem to breathe. Everything was perfectly still for a precious few moments. 

After what seemed like an eternity, Hanzo questioned why he was even doing this. He wasn't beast, nor was he prey. He was intelligent, more so than dumb animal staring at him. He would easily win in a fight. 

So Hanzo broke the unspoken rule. Letting loose a fierce snarl, he leaped at the wolf, claws splayed and reaching for its throat. 

To his surprise, the wolf simply stepped out of the way and let him crash face first into the dirt. 

As he pushed himself back up, the wolf circled around him and jumped on his back. Hanzo hissed at the sensation of claws digging into his spine. The feral part of his mind surged with rage, screaming at him to abandon all human logic and let his instincts guide him into battle. The thought repulsed him, even as he dodged the snapping of his attacker’s jaws near his throat. 

Instead, Hanzo dug his claws into the ground for leverage and shook his back erratically, throwing the wolf off balance. With its claws dislodged out of gaps between his scales, he fell to the ground and rolled over, leaving it behind a few feet away. 

The wolf grunted and leapt back to its paws, keeping expert balance even with its missing leg. It rushed towards Hanzo, dodging out of the way as the dragon took the opportunity to snap back at it. He circled around, trying to take out one of its other legs, but missed as it jumped away and darted out of sight at the last second. Hanzo looked around wildly for a moment before he felt a sharp tug on one of his sensitive long whiskers. 

Hanzo roared in pain, nearly blacking out as he instinctively whipped around to snap at the wolf. He reared back as it used the opportunity to claw him in the face, feeling trickles of blood sliding dangerously close to his eyes. 

This had to stop. Obviously this animal was much more intelligent than he had anticipated, and he was coming closer to succumbing to his instincts with every blow. He had already gotten enough to eat to spare him one more night, after all. The fight wasn't worth it. 

Hanzo was just about to yield to the wolf and turn tail when an arrow shot through the trees, piercing the bark of a tree mere inches from his head. 

The two of them froze. 

_Hunters._

Just like that the old fight was over and a new fight had begun. Hanzo curled around the wolf, growling as he reasoned out which direction the arrow had come from. They would have had to be able to see them, needed a relatively clear area to aim through, while still having enough cover to hide away again… He locked his gaze on the one direction that fit that description, and sure enough the tip of a bow peeked out from behind a tree. 

These hunters were amateurs. He was a skilled bowman any other night, and would have been able to dispatch of them cleanly. But tonight he was a dragon. It likely wouldn’t be hard to be rid of the pests simply by showing them exactly what they were up against, but if they continued to press even then… Well, he could always use another meal. 

Hanzo uncurled from the wolf and slunk through the grass, keeping low to make for a smaller target as he closed the distance between himself and the hunters. He kept his mind clear, focusing on the logistics of the attack rather than the emotions behind them. Rage and fear fueled his animal mind, and he couldn’t afford to lose himself with hunters around. There was only so much a scaley hide and large stature could do against arrows and bullets. When hunters were involved, his only leg up was that he was smarter than them. Much smarter, from the look of this bundle of neophytes. 

Swerving out of the way of arrows and bullets, Hanzo made his way into the area where the hunters had gathered and reared up on his hind legs, towering above the puny humans below him. Once he had their attention he bared his teeth and roared. 

The hunters froze on the spot, staring up at him dumbfoundedly. Perhaps the scare would work. After all, those with dragon blood were fairly rare. They had probably never even seen one before, let alone had one come this close to them. A few of the hunters seemed shocked, ready to drop their weapons and bolt once the spell was broken. The scare would work. It always worked. 

Two things happened at the same time. 

The hunter closest to Hanzo changed demeanors abruptly. He went from looking surprised, perhaps even startled, to sneering in disgust. The human steeled himself, spat at the ground by the dragon’s feet, and raised his bow, aiming an arrow directly at one of Hanzo’s eyes. 

The wolf burst forth from behind the trees, sprinting towards the hunter with the bow and tackling him to the ground. 

The spell was broken, but the hunters didn’t run away. Instead, they began shooting. Some shot at Hanzo, their bullets and arrows bouncing off his scales. Others shot at the wolf, failing to so much as nick the creature darting around away from the now bloodied corpse of their crony. 

Hanzo huffed and fell back onto his front legs, lunging towards the hunters who were better shots. The humans backed off momentarily, only to fall back into the jaws of the predator that was picking them off one by one. Any time it seemed like the wolf was about to be hit, Hanzo would knock the attacker off their feet with a sweep of his tail. 

It had come down to the last two hunters when the wolf finally took a bullet to the side. Hanzo watched as it crumpled to the ground with a strangled bark, then turned to the guilty, his chest burning with rage. 

He had no reason to care for the creature, but hunters were foul. They destroyed without care, without honor. They came in the night and killed the innocent over rumors. They declared themselves judge, jury, and executioner, and then acted with authority they didn’t actually have. They killed for sport. They ruined lives. They did it all without remorse or repentance. All this and then they dare to think themselves heroes. 

_The enemy of my enemy…_

He barely noticed the arrow embedding itself between his scales as he lunged toward the hunter and snapped his jaws around them, feeling bones crack between his teeth. Blood spilled into his mouth, igniting his hunger once more. 

Distantly, he could feel the feral mind take over, pushing him deeper and deeper into his own mind. But the blinding rage engulfing him distracted his thoughts, leading him only to the next target. 

Snap. Crunch. Thud. 

All the hunters were dead, the heavy scent of blood choking the air. His vision was tunneling. 

Where did the wolf go? 

The dragon was tackled from behind, just in time for an arrow to miss the gaps between the scales over his heart and instead lodge itself deep into his shoulder. He hissed in pain and indignance, turning his head to see the wolf holding him down. It was not looking down at him, but up into the forest. 

The last thing Hanzo saw before blacking out was a rain of silver-tipped arrows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hanzo you dramatic fuck
> 
> \---
> 
> Oh geez, I haven't written fanfiction in ages. Big shout out to ahoy_m8tee and my girlfriend for making this possible!
> 
> More chapters will be coming soon! The next one will feature them actually talking to each other.


	2. Someone had to break the ice

It was well into the afternoon by the time Hanzo came back into consciousness. When he opened his eyes, squinting against the glaring light spilling over his face, his first impulse was to just roll over and go back to sleep. There was a sharp pain digging into the space between his eyes, and every muscle screamed with static soreness. It would be easier to just pull the blankets over his head. 

But. 

Hanzo’s eyes snapped open as he sat up, his mind reeling. He had no memory of finding a house to sleep in. Even on nights where the dragon took hold and he lost all his memories, he always had memories of taking back control in human form or waking up outside. But here he was, staining unfamiliar plain sheets and a quilt with blood. 

Something was wrong. 

Hanzo threw the covers to the side, ignoring the sharp taste of copper still in his mouth. At first glance, the room didn’t seem to be in any way threatening. Quite the opposite, in fact. The walls were covered in faded floral wallpaper and framed paintings of landscapes. The room held several pieces of antique furniture—a writing desk, a vanity table, some lamps and a large wardrobe—all of which were constructed out of dark, rotting wood and chipping paint. The window adjacent to the bed was covered in a thick layer of dust—as was every other surface in the room—and was framed by tattered sheer curtains. 

All in all the effect was certainly… quaint, in its own morose way. It was the kind of place that looked as though its occupants would have aged with it. Still, it didn't sit well with him. Hanzo wasn't particularly fond of waking up in unfamiliar places. 

Moving the quilt out of the way (and silently berating himself for soiling the expert fabric-work with blood), he pulled the sheets up and wrapped them around his waist. On the very likely chance that someone had brought him here while he was asleep, he didn’t want to confront them without being somewhat modest. 

He doubted his clothes were anywhere in this house. He had hidden them inside a tree at the edge of the forest, along with his bow and other belongings, expecting that he would be in the right mind to fetch them when he was done. Obviously things didn’t pan out the way he expected them to. Still, he could find them again once he was better oriented, but first he had to find out whether he was alone. 

The door wasn’t locked, and Hanzo doubted that it was even possible to do so. It was a simple door with a handle and no locking mechanism to speak of. He wondered exactly how old this house had to have been if it predated the days of even rudimentary locks. The door was made of rotting wood and rusted hinges that practically shrieked as he opened it, and Hanzo couldn’t decide if the fact that the sound alone should have been enough to wake him up was worrying or a relief. 

The rest of the house seemed to reflect the appearance of the room he’d woken up in; a state of charming decay. It seemed like the house had been abandoned ages ago and left for the forest to reclaim. Paint was chipped and faded, wood and fabric was deteriorated and falling apart, and the places closest to the outside were choked with creeping vines. None of this worried Hanzo. He was well used to the silent comfort of abandoned places. Nature always took back its territories once humanity was no longer fighting it off. This was the natural process of things. 

What did worry him, though, was the evidence that the house wasn’t completely abandoned. Aside from the fresh blankets he had found in his room, there were several surfaces that dust wasn’t collected on, sinks that were still wet from recent use, and various pieces of fabric or used belongings that littered the floor. 

There was someone living here. Hanzo grew more and more tense the more of the house he explored. It was becoming more apparent that his dragon form didn’t simply find an abandoned house in the forest to stay the night in. It was becoming more likely that someone had brought him here. 

The thing that worried him most was that he wasn’t sure why. If someone had wanted to kill him, it would be simple enough to do it in his sleep. It was possible someone wanted to torture him for information, but they could do it better in a room designed for interrogation. Someone could have had the bright idea to hold him for ransom, but room he was left in was unlocked and he had no close family or friends to speak of. Not anymore, anyway. 

Hanzo didn’t like not knowing the intentions of whoever brought him here. It set him on edge. 

In the kitchen he found more proof of the house being lived in. There were dirty dishes in the sink; fine china soaking in soapy water. In the refrigerator, which was hooked up to a humming generator, there were fresh fruits and vegetables and cuts of meat, food that couldn’t have been more than a day or two old. 

He took a knife out of a holder on the counter, thoroughly convinced he would need it. If someone had indeed brought him here to hurt him, they were mistaken if they thought he’d make it easy. 

Footsteps sounded down the hall, making Hanzo tense. He hid by the doorway, a tight grip on the hilt of the knife, and waited. As the footsteps got louder, he could just barely catch the stranger’s scent. It was… almost canine, but he didn’t hear any dogs barking. Perhaps it was a hunter dressed in wolf furs? It didn’t matter. 

As soon as the stranger walked into the kitchen Hanzo grabbed him by the arm, slammed him into the wall, and held the blade against his neck. “Who are you?” Hanzo demanded. “And why have you brought me here?” 

If the stranger was caught off guard, he didn’t show it. If anything, he seemed amused. “I was wonderin’ when you were gonna wake up,” he said casually, as if he wasn’t currently being threatened with a knife. “Ya missed lunch. And breakfast for that matter. I figured you’d be starvin’ after last night.” 

Hanzo took a good long look at him. The man didn’t seem actively hostile. In fact he seemed downright friendly. But he also seemed to be hinting at the fact that he knew about the transformation, possibly even about the hunters. He narrowed his eyes and pressed the blade against his skin. “I asked you a question! Who are you?” 

“What, you don’t recognize me?” The man grinned, showing off sharp canines. 

The man seemed rather wolfish overall. He even smelled it, though he didn’t seem to be wearing any fur. It was just then that Hanzo realized the man hadn’t even been wearing a shirt. His torso was bandaged up, blood soaking the fabric from his side. 

Hanzo’s eyes widened. This man wasn’t a hunter. He was the wolf from the forest. 

He loosened his grip on the knife. “You’re a lycan.” 

“I prefer the term ‘werewolf’, myself”, the stranger said. “Gets straight to the point. No dancing around with fancy vocabulary.” He shrugged his shoulders as Hanzo pushed away, still holding the knife defensively. “The name’s McCree, by the way. Jesse McCree.” 

Jesse McCree. It was an interesting name, about as American as his accent. Hanzo looked him over. ‘McCree’ was stocky, but toned, and covered in faded scars. He had obviously been in his fair share of fights before. His gaze flicked down to the man’s left arm. Or rather, what was left of it. It ended in a stump, scar tissue spreading out from a mechanical device situated on the end just above where his elbow would have been. This was definitely the wolf from last night.

The wolf that had tried to kill him. And then assumably brought him here. 

“You still haven't answered my question,” Hanzo said, raising the knife again. “Why am I here?” 

“Well,” McCree began, pushing the knife away from his face, “after we nearly both got killed by hunters, I decided to play it safe and hide out for a while, and you weren't exactly in the frame of mind to tell me if you'd rather get killed on your own or stay the night with me.” 

“So you brought me here to… keep me safe?” Hanzo didn’t bother to hide the suspicion in his voice. Lycan or not, the man had certainly attacked him last night. He didn’t trust his motivations an inch, even if it was to his benefit. 

“You’d better believe it.” McCree walked around Hanzo over to the dining table, on which laid a prosthetic arm, a revolver, and a blood-covered arrow. 

Hanzo absently reached up to his shoulder, noticing the bandages on it for the first time. That’s right, he’d been shot too. McCree must have pulled it out and dressed his wounds while he was out. 

For a moment he almost let his guard down. Only a moment, though. He watched McCree plug the wires from the prosthetic into the mechanical piece on his arm, keeping a wary eye on the gun nearby. “Why do you take it off?” Hanzo asked after a few seconds. 

McCree flexed the robotic fingers, checking the connections. “It wouldn’t transform with me. I’d be stuck with a useless piece of metal dangling from my leg if I didn’t.” He stretched and stood up, going to the fridge. “Want something to eat?” 

Hanzo didn’t trust anything this stranger tried to feed him. “No.” 

“Well alright then.” 

Hanzo glanced back over at the table, looking at the arrow. The archery of that hunter was better than he had expected. He was used to dealing with enemies who didn’t know a billet from a brace, but this one was able to land a shot between scales from meters away. 

But that didn’t matter. If he had his weapon, he would be able to take them out before they even had time to pull an arrow out of their quivers. 

“I need my bow.” 

“Not right now, you don’t.” McCree patted Hanzo on his bandaged shoulder, smirking as he winced. “You wouldn’t stand a chance without that scale armor of yours, and even then they might be prepared for it this time around. Best you just stay here ‘til they get bored and leave.” 

Hanzo smacked his hand away. Who did this man think he was, ordering him around? Hanzo was a Shimada. He would not be intimidated by a gaggle of low-brow thugs and a cocky lycan. Besides, his bow was non-negotiable. “I think I’ll take my chances.” 

“I don’t think I can let you do tha-” 

“I was not asking _permission_ ,” Hanzo snarled. “I will come and go as I please, and you will have no say in it!” 

There was a moment of silence between the two of them, each studying the other. Finally, McCree sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Well, if you insist. Far be it from me to stop you from gettin’ yourself killed.” 

Hanzo nodded curtly and turned to the door. 

“Hold up.” Hanzo turned his head, waiting for the man to continue. McCree gestured at the sheet he was wearing. “Do ya at least want some clothes?” 

McCree took the look of poison Hanzo shot him as a no. 

“Fine. Alright. Have it your way.” 

Hanzo finally took his leave, still carrying the knife with him. He had been through worse with less and still come out on top. And once he had his bow, there wasn’t a man in the world who could defeat him. 

He walked through the trees, looking around and trying to place where in the forest he was. All he needed to do was find his way to the edge of the woods and from there he could circle around until he found his stashed belongings. It was a process he had repeated many times in the past, back when finding himself in an unfamiliar location was a commonplace occurrence. 

As he walked, Hanzo took a moment to study the trees around him. When he first came into the forest, he had noticed oak, cypress, and maple trees. However, now he was passing cedar, pine, and even apple trees. He looked back at the house, confirming his suspicions. The area had once been a farm. 

That gave him a starting point, at least. Hanzo headed in the direction where cedar died off and oak flourished, and soon returned to familiar surroundings. 

When Hanzo finally found his way back to the area where he’d stashed his belongings, he was on edge. The forest was silent aside from the distant shuffling of movement through foliage, which likely meant that the hunters were still around. He moved carefully, staying hidden from sight as he moved closer to his stash. 

He looked out from behind an oak tree. He'd hidden his belongings inside the hollow of a tree that looked as though it had been struck by lightning at some point. It was distinctive while still blending in if you weren't actively looking for it. It was the perfect hiding place. 

And it was currently being carefully guarded.

The hunter opposing him was definitely on high alert. He was standing in place, scanning the area with a shotgun at the ready. The hunters must have stumbled across the bow and clothes and decided to have someone stay by them in case the owner came back for them. 

Which, of course, the owner did. 

Shit. 

Hanzo considered his options. There was no way he'd be able to go anywhere in the guard’s line of sight without being shot at, which, between the gun and his vulnerable state, would be deadly. But if he could somehow get the hunter to go somewhere else, even if only for a few seconds, he might be able to make a break for it… 

Keeping his eye on the guard, Hanzo felt around on the ground for something to throw. His fingers wrapped around a large rock. Perfect. 

He waited until the guard was looking somewhere else, then threw the rock into a bush a bit farther away. Just as he expected, the hunter looked over, drew up his gun, and ran towards the source of the sound. 

Hanzo smirked. Just as he expected. 

Once the hunter was far enough away, he darted over to the tree and collected his belongings into his arms. Clothes, quiver, arrows, travel bag with miscellaneous possessions… 

His bow. Where was his bow? 

Hanzo blinked as an arrow whizzed past, barely grazing his cheek. He looked up to see the archer from last night aiming another arrow at him. 

Using. His. Bow. 

Hanzo snarled, dodging the next arrow and immediately throwing the knife at him. The blade managed to lodge in his shoulder, causing him to yell out in pain. Hanzo charged forward, rage rising in his chest like a wildfire and clouding his judgement. Nobody touched his bow unless they had a death wish. 

The hunter kept trying to fire at him, but his aim was greatly impaired by the blade wedged in his arm and Hanzo was able to easily dodge the shots. He tackled the hunter, ripping the bow out of his hands and tearing the knife back out. 

Before Hanzo could do anything else, he heard the cocking of a gun barrel. He turned around to see the guard from before several feet behind him, aiming the shotgun directly at his head. 

Six shots rang out from the forest. 

The guard fell to the ground, as did five other hunters hiding in the trees. All of them had been shot in the head. 

McCree stepped out from the shadows, twirling his smoking revolver. “I told ya you wouldn’t stand a chance.” 

Hanzo scowled and stabbed the knife through the archer’s hand, pinning it to the ground. “I was doing just fine until you showed up!” he growled, standing up to get the rest of his things. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, was gettin’ your brains blown out part of the plan?” McCree crouched down, grabbing the knife and wiping the blade off on his shirt. 

He was right, and it was infuriating. Hanzo silently fumed as he stuffed his clothes into his travel bag and stood up, deciding to get dressed once he was in shelter. 

Which, unfortunately, meant going with McCree for now. 

Damn it. 

Hanzo turned back to McCree. “The others will be here any moment now. We should go back before we run into them again.” 

That damned smirk again. “Change your mind, did you?” 

“Say another word and I’ll kill you.” Hanzo started heading back the way they came, keeping alert for any others. 

McCree chuckled and followed behind him. “Whatever you say, darlin’.” 

This was going to be a very long walk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah yes, the budding romance between Flirty McSnarky and Paranoid Chucklefuck. This should be good. 
> 
> \--- 
> 
> Second chapter is a go! I'm gonna try to update on Sundays from now on. A week seems to be a decent amount of time, but if something changes I'll make sure to make a post about it on [my blog](http://corvid-ink.tumblr.com/). 
> 
> Another big thank you to ahoy_m8tee and my girlfriend for wording and character advice, and also a huge thanks to you guys for your support! It means the world to me that you're liking the story!


	3. Let's start over at the beginning

Out of all the places Jesse McCree had camped out over the years, the abandoned farmhouse was hands down the one he liked the most. 

It wasn’t like he hadn’t stayed in some very nice quarters either. At one point he’d scored a room in a hotel smack dab in the middle of Hollywood, complete with a perfect view of the famous sign. At another, he’d visited a resort in Riviera Maya in Mexico (the beach was downright breathtaking, lush green trees and teal water stretching out for miles past the fine white sands). He’d been everywhere from New York City to the Las Vegas, slept everywhere from the mansions of altruistic strangers to the VIP sections of various clubs, and been privy to the lifestyles of the very rich and very famous at many points in his life as a traveler. 

And while those experiences were exciting and luxurious, they were also often rowdy and hedonistic. And while it wasn’t like he didn’t enjoy the occasional trip to the land of milk and honey, there was just something about this unassuming stretch of woods situated in rural Middle-Of-Nowhere, Texas that appealed to him. Maybe it was the idyllic greenery of a forest that had long since taken itself back from agricultural life. Maybe it was the peace and quiet of being miles from any form of civilization. 

Maybe it just reminded him of a life he might have liked to live if he’d been given the chance. 

In any case, the place was something of a jackpot for a transient werewolf. It was brimming with a thriving ecosystem (there was never a shortage of game or edible plant life, so he never ran out of food), it was so far removed from human life that he never had to worry about accidentally harming innocents during a full moon, and the property was already built to be self sufficient–he could just walk in and start up all the leftover heat, water, and electricity mechanisms without having to worry about pesky bills or squatting laws. Of all the places he’s lived, life was certainly the easiest here. Or at least it was until a certain stranger came barreling in with a few dozen hunters hot on his tracks. 

Not that he was complaining. 

“So,” Jesse began after several minutes of walking in uncomfortable silence, “I don’t recall ever gettin’ your name.” The man (weredragon? Those were a thing right?) simply glared at him from the sides of his eyes. “...You do have a name, don’t you?” 

After a few moments of what appeared to be inward debating, he finally answered. “Hanzo.” 

“Hanzo,” Jesse repeated. “So, what, ‘s that a one name thing? Like Cher? Or Lúcio?” 

The glare intensified. “ _Shimada_ Hanzo.” 

“Shimada, ‘course.” The name seemed to ring a bell, but he couldn’t place it. He shrugged it off. If it was important, he’d remember what it was later. “Well, Hanzo, it’s a pleasure to meetcha.” 

Hanzo responded with a neutral hum. What a friendly guy. 

Jesse glanced over at him, his eyes drifting down to the bedsheet wrapped loosely around his waist like a skirt. It was plain, a solid cream color that had faded into an ashy grey, but recently it had been stained with blood, dirt, and grass rubbings. The cloth wasn’t quite sheer, but it was thin enough that, had the sheet not been bunched together around his hips, it might have been somewhat revealing. If he squinted, McCree could swear he saw some faded illustrations of fruit printed on the fabric. On anyone else it might have looked absolutely ridiculous. But somehow, with his lean frame and chiseled features, Hanzo made the look almost attractive. 

He looked away, heat rising in his cheeks. “So I’m guessin’ you got a change of clothes in that knapsack of yours?” He smirked and added, “not that you’re not a sight for sore eyes.” 

Hanzo shot him a suspicious look, clutching his bag closer to his side. “Of course I do”, he said crossly. “I am coming with you _only_ to change, and then I am _leaving_.” 

Jesse furrowed his brow. All the trouble they just went through and he was still trying to go off by himself? It was like the man had a death wish. “Now hold on, I’m not about to let you go out there on your own. You were out there for all of, what, an hour? And you managed to have two– _two_ –near misses!” 

“Why do you care what happens to me?” Hanzo snapped back. “We are perfect strangers to each other. You owe me nothing.” 

“I care because I don’t let good people die when I know I can do something to help!” 

“I am _not_ a good person.” 

Silence fell between them, Hanzo’s words hanging in the air. It hadn’t been an argument, an exclamation, or even an accusation. He had said it as a statement, matter-of-fact and dripping with bitterness. 

Jesse looked at Hanzo, trying to read him. He was staring straight ahead, shoulders tense but gait steady. His face was perfectly neutral, but his eyes gave enough away. They revealed things Jesse recognized. Things he was all too familiar with. 

“Well,” Jesse said after a while, speaking carefully. “I don’t know that for sure. I just met you. And as far as I’m concerned, you have a clean slate as long as you’re with me.” He watched Hanzo out of the corner of his eye. “But what I do know is, those hunters? They’re the bad guys. And I’ll be damned if I let ‘em kill a single person on my watch.” 

Some of the tension seemed to leave Hanzo’s shoulders. It was a start. Jesse continued. “So I’m going to have to ask you to stay with me for a while. Just a while.” Hanzo looked away. “Just long enough to heal some of those wounds of yours,” he added. “You’re in no condition to start a fight as it is.” 

Hanzo remained silent for a another minute or so, as if he was running over the words in his head. Finally, he took a deep breath and sighed. “Fine,” he relented. “I’ll stay. But _only_ until I am healed. After that, I’m leaving, and you will _not_ stop me.” 

Jesse smiled, glad that he finally got through to him. “It’s a deal, partner.” 

After that, things were pretty quiet until they got back to the farmhouse. It was in fairly good shape for a house that was assumably hundreds of years old. Peeling paint and creeping vines aside, the wood was strong, the appliances still worked, and the structure held up nicely. It was certainly a building designed to last. The surrounding forest was still home to an apple orchard that had since grown out of control. Apples littered the grass at their feet. Jesse made a mental note to pick some fruit from the trees later. Company was always a good excuse for baking. 

He held the door open for his guest, rattling off the usual spiel. “You’re welcome to stay for as long as you want. Don’t worry about food, I’ll take care of that. Only thing I ask is that you help with the laundry, dishes, trash, water collectin’, wood cuttin’ and all that.” 

Hanzo turned around. “I’m not planning on being here that long.” 

“An arrow wound like that? Right in the shoulder? You’re gonna be here for at least a month.” Jesse followed him inside. “A month’s long enough to help with the chores.” 

“I wasn’t saying I wouldn’t help,” Hanzo said defensively, setting his bow and quiver down on the table. “I just don’t want you to get the idea that I’m staying longer than I need to.” 

Jesse shrugged. “If you insist. Feel free to wash up and lemme know if you need help findin’ anything.” 

Hanzo nodded, looking around once before taking his bag with him down the hall. 

Stretching, Jesse walked over to the cabinets, getting out some ingredients for dinner. As he started pulling out a pot to make a stew, he heard several doors opening and closing. He stifled a laugh and called out, “third door on the left!” 

Hanzo grumbled from upstairs and finally entered the bathroom. 

*** 

By this point, Hanzo had been living off the land for nearly a month, and it had been years since he’d experienced any kind of long term luxury. He’d grown accustomed to finding and killing everything he ate, sleeping in any shelter he could find, and bathing in rivers and streams. There was a certain peace in living this way. He could leave all worldly concerns behind and focus just on what he had to do to survive. 

Of course, none of this made it easier to adapt to centuries-old foreign shower setups. 

The ice cold water that hit his chest like a power washer nearly made him double over in shock. It had already taken much too long to figure out which of the several unlabeled nozzles turned the water on, which regulated the temperature, and which operated the showerhead (it was a chain hanging from the ceiling), and now he had to frantically repeat the process while shivering under a glacial downpour. 

Over the past few years Hanzo had spent almost all of his travels in warm climates; places like India, East Africa, and and the American South. Water found in nature had always been lukewarm at its coldest, but the temperature of the water currently pelting him likened more to the rivers of his home country. During the winter.

Eventually the heat came in, but that was no easier to get used to. It was nearly scalding and the places where it battered the skin flushed bright red, starkly contrasting with the ghostly white outlines of old scars. Any turn of a nozzle took several minutes to take effect, so he just left the temperature where it was. He would get used to it soon enough anyway.

Tilting his head back and closing his eyes, Hanzo took a deep breath. He focused on the heat of the water as it poured over his skin, the feeling of pressure buffeting against his muscles and melting the soreness away, the steam rising around him, the blood and dirt washing away. He listened to the sound the water made as it beat against his skin and spilled against the porcelain of the tub at his feet. 

He always tried to take a few moments each day to meditate. Moments of peace could be hard to come by sometimes, so he cherished the ones he got. 

Eventually the peace melted away again and he began to plan his next steps. Hanzo knew he would have to stay long enough for his injuries to heal, but it still made him anxious. He shrugged his shoulder, the fresh wound stinging as he maneuvered it directly under the stream of water to wash it out. He didn’t like staying in one place for too long. Constant movement was part of his life now, it was how he stayed sane, and it would be rude to overstay his welcome. But he knew that McCree wouldn’t let him out of his sight until the wound was mostly healed. 

The thought didn’t make him feel any better. 

In any case, he would leave as soon as he could, and hopefully by then the hunters would have lost interest. If not… Well, he had his bow now. It shouldn’t be difficult to dispatch of anyone who threatened him, even with his recent handicap.

Of course… there was that archer. Hunters have never been that good with a bow before, especially against him. He was sure they were dead by now, but the idea that a member of their ranks could even possibly go toe to toe with him made him more than a little uneasy. He was used to dealing with adversaries with no training and no idea what they were doing. As much as he hated to consider the notion, he might even have lost his touch. 

He had a month until he would have to confront them again. It would be best to use this time for training. That was the only way he could ensure that he would always win against them. 

When Hanzo finally stepped out of the shower and dried off, he could smell the spices wafting upstairs from the kitchen. Though he was grateful for this stranger cooking for him, it still put him on edge. There were plenty of people who would stand to gain a small fortune from collecting his head, even this far from home and poison was all too easy to access; especially if one had a working knowledge of natural toxicants found in the forest. He had already had too many attempts on his life to let his guard down for some pushy American.

But still… the exertion of the past twenty-four hours had taken a toll on him. Going too long without eating would likely put him in an even worse position. Besides, it would be rude to refuse food that someone clearly put a lot of care into making. He would be able to sense anything that was slipped into his food, and he didn’t suppose the man would bother to poison someone who he had saved the life of. Twice. 

Hanzo also disliked the idea of oweing this stranger anything. The whole situation was entirely unwelcome as far as he was concerned. 

He dropped his bag off in his bedroom and walked into the kitchen. Immediately, he was smacked in the face with the heavy aroma of a fresh cooked meal. The scent of savory spices and meats filled the area, masking everything else. It didn't smell bitter or suspiciously salty or sweet, but it was thick and heavy like a hot summer night. It was… overpowering to say the least. His first instinct was to hurry back to the bedroom, but by then McCree had already seen him. 

Hanzo chewed on his lip and walked over to the dining table. His bow and quiver and McCree’s gun and holster had been pushed aside to make room for a pair of bowls filled to the brim with some kind of stew. 

McCree smiled. “There you are! I was about to come get ya.” He proceeded to dig into his bowl as Hanzo sat down. “So how’s your shoulder holdin’ up? You don’t need help dressin’ it, do ya?” 

“No. I can take care of myself.” Hanzo sniffed at his food, only taking a bite when he didn’t sense any toxins mixed in. “I’ve dressed my own wounds many times before.” 

“I can believe it,” McCree responded, eliciting a sharp look from Hanzo. He shrugged defensively. “You just look like you’ve been in your fair share of fights is all.” 

Hanzo made a noncommittal sound and kept eating. He’d been in many fights to be sure, but this stranger didn’t need to know that. Why the man was even bothering to strike up a conversation was beyond him. All he wanted to do was finish his meal and turn in for the night with as little interaction as he could manage. 

Unfortunately, it didn’t seem like McCree was about to let him do that. “You know,” he said, sounding all too eager to fill the silence with his own voice, “it’s been an awful long time since I’ve had anyone around for dinner.” 

“Has it.” Hanzo wanted nothing more than for him to stop talking. 

“Mhm. Last time was maybe…” McCree seemed lost in thought for a moment, as though he was doing calculations in his head. “A year or two? Give or take.” 

Hanzo raised his eyebrows and looked up from his food. A year or two? As almost irritatingly friendly as this man had been, he would have guessed that he had guests every other week. As isolated as Hanzo tried to keep himself he still managed to spend dinner with someone at least every other month. 

“O’course,” McCree corrected, stabbing a fork into a chunk of meat, “folks come through here more often than that. Maybe once or twice a month, more often in the summer. But they rarely stay longer than a few hours, you know?” 

That still seemed a bit rare to Hanzo. The man didn’t exactly seem like the loner type. He recalled that McCree was a werewolf. Didn’t those tend to come in packs? Why would a werewolf isolate himself so much? 

As curious as he had suddenly become, Hanzo didn’t dare ask. He knew the question would be turned on him one way or another, and he had his own reasons for his self-imposed exile. The stranger didn’t need to know what they were. 

The air between them was silent again, thick enough to cut with a knife, but McCree didn’t try to break it up this time. He seemed to sense that conversation wasn’t welcome at the moment. In all honesty, Hanzo appreciated that. 

Eventually Hanzo finished his bowl and turned to McCree, standing up. “Thank you for the meal,” he said brusquely. “I’m going to turn in for the night if you don’t mind.” 

“No problem,” McCree replied. “Oh, before you do that,” he suddenly added as Hanzo turned around, “do you want me to turn the sheets over for ya?” 

“I can do it myself, thank you.” This man was taking this gracious host act a bit far. He could manage making the bed perfectly fine on his own. 

“Suit yourself. Just gimme a call if you need anything.” 

Hanzo gave him a curt nod and made his way back to the bedroom he woke up in. The bed was still covered in dried blood. Hanzo grimaced as he stripped the sheets, not appreciating the reminder of what he had done the other night. The result of that night had been far from satisfactory, and Hanzo would prefer to not remember how badly he fucked up. 

The dirtied sheets left in a relatively neat pile near the door (he would take care of the laundry in the morning), Hanzo turned to the closet to… not find fresh bedding. He ran his fingers through his hair, thinking about the numerous doors of the house he would have to check to find a linen closet. 

“Linens’re upstairs, two doors down from the bathroom.” 

Hanzo whipped around, seeing an infuriatingly smug McCree smirking at him from the doorway. He pointedly avoided his gaze, his cheeks burning. How long had he been standing there? “Thank you.” he said sharply. 

McCree chuckled. “No problem. G’night.” With that he went on his way. 

Hanzo took a moment to collect himself before going to fetch the fresh bedsheets. It was going to take all of his self control to not wipe those smirks of his off his face with a well aimed arrow. 

Or ten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: McCree takes a scatter arrow to the face 
> 
> \--- 
> 
> Hey guys! Sorry for the delay on this chapter, I just had to work through a particularly tough bout of writer's block. Everything's ready to roll again and the next chapter should be up soon! As always thanks for your support!!!


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